Ah, the great book authors among us. You know the type. The ones who casually drop into the conversation, “I’m putting this in my next book.” Oh, really, your next book? I see you’ve bypassed the gruelling process of securing a publisher, editor, or even a proper ISBN number! Marvellous, truly marvellous. I must be in the presence of photographic royalty.

Of course, what they actually mean is that they’ll be printing exactly one copy. Yes, one. That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, their magnum opus will soon grace the most exclusive of audiences—their own coffee table. What a privilege it must be to sit down, instant coffee in hand, and flip through the pages of their very own masterpiece. No one else to judge it, no critics to lambast their “vision,” just pure, uninterrupted self-admiration. Oh, and let’s not forget the hapless visitors—poor souls who, at some point, will have the book ceremoniously thrust under their noses.

“Oh, look at this one!” they’ll say, eagerly flipping to page 42, where some over-saturated, over-sharpened, and over-indulgent street scene awaits your immediate praise. You’ll be expected to gasp, eyes widening as if you’ve just seen the lost works of Henri Cartier-Bresson himself. You may even be forced to mutter something like, “Wow, this is… incredible,” while secretly wondering how quickly you can escape without leaving a trail of insincere compliments.

But come on, who are we fooling here? There’s no publishing deal, no grand book tour. There’s just one book, collecting dust, waiting for the next poor victim to walk through the door and be subjected to yet another ego trip masquerading as a photo gallery.

Published, Awarded… or Just Pretending? The Hollow Boasts of Modern Photography

So, let’s stop the pretentious nonsense, shall we? If you’re printing a book for your coffee table, just say that. No need to make it sound like your work will be gracing the shelves of Waterstones anytime soon. Just keep it real. After all, the only screams of disbelief coming from anyone will be at how delusional you sound.

Ah, and then we have the published photographers. Yes, of course, because who among us hasn’t been published, right? Just last week, little Johnny’s photo at the school sports day was printed in the school newsletter—right next to the bake sale advert. Oh, the glory! The fame! The heady scent of ink fresh off the presses… if by presses, you mean the school secretary’s inkjet printer. But sure, let’s call that being published, shall we? And while we’re at it, why not slap a glossy “published photographer” title on your bio. Just don’t expect us to take you seriously when you try to boast about it in a group of people who actually know what being published really means.

Now, onto my personal favourite—the “award-winning” photographer. Ah yes, an award! But awarded by whom, exactly? Some fly-by-night “international” online group with 200 members and a logo that looks suspiciously like clip art? Perhaps you got a shiny PNG ribbon for coming third in an online competition judged by someone whose qualifications are… well, let’s just say, unlisted.

Here’s the deal. If you’ve been published by Vogue, we’ll applaud. If you’ve shot for Victoria’s Secret, we’ll listen in awe. If National Geographic accepted your jaw-dropping image of a polar bear juggling penguins on an iceberg, we’ll be on the edge of our seats, hanging on your every word. That’s something worthy of respect. But if your grand accolade is a “Best Landscape of the Month” award from an online group run by someone who couldn’t tell their ISO from their elbow, then, for the love of all things photographic, spare us the hollow bragging.

We’ve all seen it, we all know it, and we all know that accolades are not just about slapping a title onto your name. So, before you start crowing about your “new book”, “published” status or “award-winning” title, ask yourself—does this really hold any weight? Or am I just stroking my ego for the benefit of no one but myself?

The truth hurts, but it’s a lot less painful than watching another faux photographer bask in the imaginary glow of self-made grandeur.

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